


Firsts

by jedi_penguin



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_penguin/pseuds/jedi_penguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a gradual process, eroding a soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kastaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/gifts).



> This was written for Blasters and wands ficathon for Kastaka. S/he wanted to see Kira Nerys during the Occupation of Bajor.

_Kira can’t remember the first time she saw a dead Bajoran. Growing up in the camps, they were everywhere, all the time. But she remembers her first dead Cardassian. Oh yes, she remembers **him**._

“Why can’t I help?” 

Shakaar laughed. Not unkindly, which would have made Nerys angry and thus more determined than before, but a gentle laugh that wilted her. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful help some day, Kira Nerys, but I need you to grow a bit more first. Fighters have to prove themselves through hard work before I take them into the field, and I’m afraid that you just aren’t strong enough yet.” He smiled his impossibly handsome smile. “You’ll get there yet, never fear. And I’ll find a use for you when you do.”

The dashing young leader started to walk away, but Nerys wasn’t about to let him go so quickly. “What jobs do you have? How can I prove myself **now**? You won’t be sorry if you give me a chance!”

Shakaar shook his head sadly and left without another word, but one of his followers grinned and bent down to her level. “We made a bit of a mess back there, and we should tidy up before the spoon heads see it. Most of the camp will be going to clean up after us; you could join them if you like.”

Nerys didn’t ask him what the job was, just gave him a grateful smile and ran off in the direction of his outstretched hand. She ran joyfully, almost floating… until the smell hit her. She slowed then and walked carefully. Before she could fully prepare herself, Nerys found herself surrounded by dead bodies. 

A few non-combatants from the camp were already there and more were coming up behind her. They all carried shovels. Nerys approached a grim-faced older woman. “Let me, grandmother,” Nerys said politely. “Give me the shovel.”

The woman studied the child carefully before handing over the digging implement. “That’s kind of you, girl. But don’t you forget and go burying any of our own now, you hear?” Nerys looked at her in confusion and the woman scowled. “The fighters like to take care of their own. I did when I was young enough to fight, and you’ll feel the same when you’re old enough for a rifle of your own. But someone has to take care of **them** , and for right now, I guess that’s us.” 

Nerys wasn’t happy at the idea of touching a Cardassian, even a dead one, but she could see why it needed to be done, so she nodded firmly. “I understand. Give me the shovel.”

“I’ll be sitting over there, child. Let me know if the work is too much for you.” Nerys decided that she’d die of exhaustion before she admitted anything to the woman. Perhaps the old woman sensed that, for she gave the girl a more genuine smile and shooed her off toward a group of five or six people who had already begun digging.

Nerys worked on that pit for hours. The work was steady and monotonous, but she was determined to do it just as well as any of the grown-ups there, if not better. The sweat poured down her face and every muscle in her body screamed for her to stop, but she refused to take a break. Shakaar might not hear a report about the digging detail, but if he did, he'd never hear the name of Kira Nerys listed among the slackers.

Digging requires a certain mindless rhythm, a steady flow of repetitive motions that discourage thought. By the time the pit was completed, Nerys had completely forgotten its original purpose.

“I think that’s deep enough,” proclaimed a young man with one leg and a crude wooden crutch where his other limb should have been. “Better than these bastards deserve, I reckon. Let’s start moving them.”

Nerys stuck her shovel in the dirt and walked back to the battlefield with the others. Each of her fellow workers grabbed a dead Cardassian and began dragging the lifeless body towards the pit. Nerys took a deep breath and selected her corpse.

It was hideous. And yet, it was also... heartbreaking. It wasn’t an “it” at all, but rather a male who looked like he was in his twenties. He was older than Nerys, but still far too young to die in battle, so far from his own home. His eyes were glassy and lifeless, but Nerys could see that they had been black when he woke up that morning. His mouth was open slightly, suggesting that the Cardassian’s last feeling had been one of surprise before he'd lost the ability to feel anything ever again. 

She picked up the Cardassian’s arms and began dragging him toward the pit. It would probably have been easier to drag him by the legs, but she felt an odd reluctance to allow his head to bump on the ground. He was past caring, but **she** wasn't. While she’d never had any reason to suspect that Cardassians cared about their own _pah_ (or indeed, that they even **had** a _pah_!), she prayed continuously for the young man until he landed in the pit.

The old woman grabbed Nerys’s arm as she started to get another body. “I saw what you did there, girl.” Nerys jumped guiltily. “The Prophets don't care about these filthy spoon heads, you know.”

“I know that,” Nerys said, even though she wasn’t certain about that at all. “I was praying for me.”

The woman nodded. “Good girl. The day you stop praying for Cardassian souls is the day you should start worrying about your own.” 

“Do you still pray for them?” Nerys asked.

The old woman barked out a humorless laugh and told her to get back to work.

~ *~

_She’s lost count of how many Cardassian soldiers she’s killed over the years, but Kira will never forget her first one._

Hours of cold, hours of fear and hours of anxiety all melted away in a moment. The rifle wasn’t heavy any longer, it was lighter than air, and felt so **right** in her hands. In the entire thirteen years of her life, nothing else had **ever** felt so right.

Nerys fired her rifle at the skimmer and didn’t stop until the power cell was drained. She began with a broad sweep of the skimmer but quickly decided to focus upon one particular spoon head. He was taller than the rest and looked a bit older. Nerys decided that he must have spent his extra years torturing Bajorans, so he probably deserved to die more than the others. She let out a whoop of pure joy when he dropped his gun, grabbed his chest and toppled to the ground. They’d all been firing at the Cardassians, so there was no particular reason for Nerys to assume that the old villain had fallen to **her** weapon, but she was convinced that he had. She'd wanted so badly to kill him, surely she'd succeeded!

She had just killed her first Cardassian, indeed, her first living being. And she’d never before felt so completely and utterly happy. Not about **anything**. Ever. Nerys didn't pray for her Cardassian, but she did sing about him. 

~ *~

_She’s not certain how many Cardassian civilians and contracted laborers have died by her hands over the years, but the face of her first civilian Cardassian is seared into Kira’s brain._

“You still grinning, little Nerys?”

“Shut up, Furel,” the teenager growled happily. “And stop calling me little.”

“Don’t let that oaf get to you, Kira,” Lupaza advised her. “I can count on my fingers the number of times he’s made any kind of sense. Almost everything that comes out of this man’s mouth is foolishness.”

Furel smiled broadly. “Ah, Lupaza, you’re altogether too wise and beautiful for me, and so gracious to talk to a peasant such as myself!” His eyes danced wickedly. “Too bad I’m completely full of shit. I guess that means the opposites must all be true.”

Lupaza smacked Furel and he made a half-hearted grab for her behind. Kira started to laugh but her giggles were cut off by Shakaar’s raised arm.

“Okay, that’s enough now. I just got the signal over the radio. Our target should be coming over the ridge within the next five minutes. Be ready, people.”

Kira calmly lay flat and looked through the sight of her rifle. It had been two years since her first firefight and she was used to hiding her nervousness. Still, to herself, she could admit that she was jumpier than usual today. This was the first time that Shakaar had decided to act upon **her** intel, so she hoped to the Temple that she was right. He had even allowed her to develop a rough plan, though he insisted upon checking it over and overseeing implementation. If all went well, however, he might consider allowing her to lead an operation in the future. The fact that she was the youngest one in the cell shouldn’t affect her chance at leadership, and she’d see that it **didn’t** … but only if everything went well today.

A fortified land vehicle came into view and the entire cell opened fire. The attack was fast, furious, and deadly. Within moments, the vehicle was ablaze. A tall figure covered in flames burst out of the vehicle and fell to the ground, where it lay still.

Shakaar went over to the figure and shot once at the head. He then rolled the figure over with his feet until the flames were extinguished. He bent down and gave a grim smile. “It’s him all right. Dul Echor himself. Good job, Nerys.” 

Kira felt like dancing for joy, but she sternly reminded herself that she was trying to look **older** , not younger. “Thanks,” she said gruffly. “Should we get rid of the vehicle, or leave it here as a warning?”

“Why don't we leave it,” Shakaar said. “But do an inventory of the other bodies first, please. Let’s see who else we caught today.”

Kira turned away quickly, before her impending grin could be seen by anyone. She strolled slowly over to the vehicle, taking her coat off as she walked. Once she was there, she wrapped the coat carefully around her right hand and quickly opened the door.

A small body, a child no more than four or five, tumbled out. The girl must have been pushed against the window when she died, perhaps trying to get out before she could smother. She was so hideously burned that Kira found herself thanking the Prophets that the death had been so quick; the girl would have suffered unimaginably if she had lived with those burns.

Before she could process the tableau in front of her, Kira found herself on her knees, throwing up everything she’d eaten for the past three days.

“Nerys!” Kira looked up and saw Lupaza running towards her as if all the Wraiths in hell were pursuing her. “Are you okay?” Before Kira could say anything, the taller woman let out a small, fragile-sounding “oh.”

“Yes! Oh!” The need to yell at someone suddenly consumed Kira, and in her rage, she decided that Lupaza would do. “We killed her! That little girl! We **killed** her, Lupaza!” Grief suddenly exhausted, Kira whispered her refrain, “we killed her.”

“Yes, we did,” Lupaza admitted quietly. “I wish we hadn’t, but we did. But Kira, you’ve got to understand that she was a legitimate target. This isn’t her world. It’s not her fault that her parents brought her here, but that doesn't mean that she belonged here. Children her age—younger, even!—are starving in the camps because her parents took food from their mouths in order to buy her that frilly dress. It isn’t right that this blameless child died, but it isn’t wrong either.”

Kira rubbed her eyes and discovered to her surprise that she was crying. She didn’t know when she’d started. “So, if this death isn’t wrong, then am I wrong to cry over her?”

“NO!” Lupaza grabbed Kira and hugged her tightly. “No, Nerys. Not wrong at all. Don't ever think that it is.”

“Then why aren’t you crying?” Kira sniffled.

“I can’t, Nerys. I don’t have any tears left.” She released her hold on Kira, but then quickly grabbed her face and forced the teenager to look at her. “But I like that you’re crying for me, Nerys. You cry for both of us. For as long as you can.”

\--The End


End file.
